


A thorn in the flesh

by hobgoblin123



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mind Manipulation, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/pseuds/hobgoblin123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set shortly after the Hunter rescued his companions from the Terrata. Angry and confused in equal parts, he sets about sorting out his feelings in a rather peculiar fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A thorn in the flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended.
> 
> Credits: 'the lady doth protest too much' is from Shakespeare's play 'Hamlet'. As Gerald is no lady, I had to change it a bit ;-).
> 
> A/N 1: As for the tooth fairy, believing in her would doubtlessly be rather inadvisable on Erna, but I simply couldn't resist mentioning her. Ranking high in the Church hierarchy, Damien could be one of the few who still have knowledge of such a mythical creature.
> 
> A/N 2: This story was also posted on fanfiction.net at the beginning of June.

Meeting the cold, clear eyes so utterly devoid of any human emotion whatsoever across the camp fire, Damien shuddered. Whether Tarrant was still miffed at having to put up with Jenseny's presence or something else entirely had bitten him, he couldn't even begin to fathom, but it was beyond doubt that the man's behaviour was rather odd. _Well, make it 'even odder than usual_ ', he corrected himself. Since the adept had turned up an hour after sunset, he hadn't spoken more than three sentences, and his mien was so frigid, his demeanour so forbidding that Hesseth and the girl had deemed it prudent to make a strategic retreat to their makeshift tent as soon as they had finished their bowl of stew. He couldn't blame them for it. All things considered, it spoke of their hunger that they had managed to force something down under the Hunter's menacing glower at all.

When Erna's satellites and the cluster of stars known as the core had set and true night was closing in oppressively around them, Vryce Worked his sight and shot his ally against all odds an inquisitive glance. Purple tendrils of dark fae, pulsating with an eerie life of their own, converged at the Neocount's boots, slithered upwards and cocooned his tall, lean frame like a spider's web woven of pure malevolence. It was an unsettling sight. And all along, while bit by bit of his singed skin was restored to its accustomed pallor, Gerald kept staring at him, his brows knitted into a tight frown.

The very moment Damien couldn't bear the tension any longer and opened his mouth for whatever remark that would pop up in his mind first, his vis-à-vis rose in one fluent, effortless motion eerily reminiscent of the uncurling of a snake and headed for the darkness under the trees without deigning to give an explanation for his sudden departure. The priest's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Not for the first time since their escape from the Terrata in the very nick of time he was under the impression that Tarrant was hiding something from him and he didn't like it, didn't like it one bit.

Vryce stifled a yawn. After everything they had been through, he was dead tired, but his warrior instincts strongly cautioned him against letting the matter rest. Only the God of their faith knew what was going on inside the adept's head, what kind of scheme his brilliant but twisted mind might have concocted once again, and he wasn't very keen on finding it out the hard way. Entirely unburdened by moral scruples, the creature called the Darkest Prince of Hell with ample reason was the very incarnation of ruthlessness even on a good day, and this wasn't one of them. With regard to Gerald's crappy mood, he wouldn't put deserting them in the deep of the night for good beyond him. Vulking hell, he wouldn't put _anything_ beyond him. If he still had had doubts about the Hunter's disposition after travelling all over their planet in his company for almost a year now, the merciless slaughtering of Calesta's fake children would have shown him very clearly what the man was capable of in case someone provoked his ire. Or just got in his way, for that matter.

His sense of unease increasing by the second, Damien struggled to his feet and hurried towards their tent. Rakh and human were already fast asleep in their nest of blankets, their arms around each other as if their peoples had never waged war against each other. The scene was so very comforting in a world which seemed to have gone mad that he loathed to disturb their peaceful slumber, but he had no choice. Under the given circumstances, leaving his friends alone in their vulnerable state without someone to stand sentinel would be tantamount to courting disaster. After all, they were deep in enemy territory, their pursuers hard on their heels and deadly threats lurking around every corner. And even if the Matria's henchmen weren't foolish enough to brave a true night out in the sticks, another horde of demonlings like the one that had attacked them not long ago certainly would find two sleeping travellers a tasty treat.

Ever so gently, the warrior knight shook a furry shoulder. "Hesseth?"

Other than in most humans, there was no slow waking up, no, however short, period of adjustment to the demands of reality. One moment, the rakh-woman had been utterly oblivious to the world, and the next she was in a half-crouch, her pointed teeth bared and her claws unsheathed. "What is it?" Are we under attack?" she hissed.

Vryce forced a smile on his weary face. "Everything is fine. But I need you to stand watch for a while."

"Where's the killer?"

"That's part and parcel of the problem, I'm afraid. Tarrant has made himself scarce, and I'm wondering why. Can't quite put a finger on it, but something just doesn't feel right about him. I'd rather find out what he's up to."

"Be careful, Damien," Hesseth warned. "I don't trust him. Now less than ever. Since he rescued us from the Terrata, he has changed, and not for the better."

Damien shrugged. "Maybe it's still bugging him that I talked him into sparing the children and taking Jenseny along. But don't worry. There's no chance in hell that I would allow him to..."

"It's not the little one I'm fearing for," she cut him short, a flicker of impatience passing across her exotic features. "Should he try to harm her, he'll have to deal with me first, and he won't like it. But I saw the killing glances he threw at you when feeling unobserved, the cold fury in his eyes. If I were you, I wouldn't turn my back on him tonight. It could very well be the last thing you'll ever do."

Hearing the serious concern in her voice sent a cold shiver down the warrior knight's spine. His feline companion might not be altogether well versed in interpreting human emotions, but she was neither a simpleton nor a busybody. Over the last year, he had come to rely on her powers of judgement, and if she suspected that Tarrant was having it in for him, he'd be damned before he took her warning lightly. It wasn't exactly what he'd call a reassuring thought.

Vryce sighed softly. Thinking of it, the eventual breaking of their uneasy truce seemed somehow unavoidable. There had been times lately when the adept's human soul had shown through his hellish trappings like a ray of sunshine peeking through thunderclouds, allowing a short glimpse of the man he had once been: the Prophet of the Law and Knight Premier of his Order. Feeling strangely attracted to this facet of Gerald's complex character, he had fooled himself into believing that there might be a way back for him from utter damnation, that redemption was still possible for the very same being whose signature was on almost everyone of their holy scriptures. Steering the fallen founder-father of their common faith back onto the right track would be a deed worthy of a devout priest of the One God for sure, a feat that might earn him forgiveness for the manifold sins he had committed when turning a blind eye on the Hunter's crimes once again, let alone feeding him with his blood and fear on more occasions than he actually cared to count.

But as intriguing as the idea was, he must never forget that Tarrant simply wasn't thinking like a mere mortal any longer in spite of his nigh to perfect human guise. His brilliant brain worked just fine, just as it had always done in all the long years of his existence, but his priorities, his very thought processes were influenced by the forces of evil he had been serving for so many years now without an inkling of remorse. Beneath his aristocratic, cultivated veneer skulked an ancient fiend no less fell than any starving demon, a monster rattling at the bars of the cage wrought of morals and sensibilities his priestly brother-in-arms had locked him up in. He'd better keep that in mind if he wanted to live to see another day.

After flashing Hesseth an encouraging smile, Damien picked up a branch from the pile of firewood they had collected, ignited it and followed the adept into the darkness. Pushing his way through the dense undergrowth was taxing, but fortunately he didn't have to go far until he found the missing member of their travel party in a clearing no more than roundabout a hundred yards away.

The Lord of the Forest was leaning against a towering alteroak tree, his chest stirred by no breath of life and his eyes closed as if to shut out the world. Thanks to the dark fae, so very fragile but powerful enough to stall death itself in the absence of light, he had healed completely by now just as he had foretold. In the moonlight the delicate oval of his face would have been the palest ivory, utterly alien to the mortal plane in its ethereal flawlessness, but the light of the torch flattered his fair complexion, lent it a deceptively natural glow and cast soft shadows beneath cheekbones to die for that only served to accentuate his almost surreal beauty.

Enthralled very much against his will, Vryce couldn't help but stare. Although he had never been sexually interested in men, he wasn't blind, and on a purely intellectual level he had always known that Gerald was one-of-a-kind in terms of physical attractiveness. His undeniable charms seemed to work tenfold on the opposite sex, but truth be told, even some of the guys they had encountered during their travels had fluttered their eyelashes at him in open invitation. The eerie sensation springing to life deep down inside him now, dilating his pupils and speeding up his heartbeat to a rapid drum roll, was only marginally connected to the higher functions of his brain, though.

 _Get a grip and stop drooling, you old fool, or the vain son of a bitch will have a field day_ , the warrior knight reprimanded himself. _He's already got an ego the size of Novatlantis. You don't honestly want to inflate it any further, do you?_

It would have been a wise thing to do. But yet he couldn't break the strange enchantment that rooted him to the spot, kept gazing his fill until Tarrant opened his eyes and looked him square in the face. "What brings you here, Vryce?" he enquired with a frown. "I thought you'd rather spend your time with guarding the sleep of your precious ward."

"She's with Hesseth. They should be alright for the time being. In fact, it's you I'm a bit worried about."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Kindly don't try to pull the wool over my eyes, Gerald. I might not be a genius like you, as you never fail to remind me, but I'm not daft, either. Since you saved our hides yesterday, you clearly haven't been yourself. You keep a stony silence, don't annoy the blazes out of me as you're wont to, not that I'm complaining about this, mind, and if looks could really kill, we'd all be stiffs by now. What on Earth and Erna is wrong with you?"

"That's none of your business, priest."

"The hell it is!" Damien growled with rising exasperation. "So far, I've heard a ton of bullshit about us endangering your precious existence. But it works both ways. Whether we like it or not, we're all in the same boat for the time being. So if there's a problem, spit it out and be done with it!"

"I've already offered you my opinion on the matter. Dragging this little parasite along is nothing short of sitting on a powder keg. I strongly advise to get rid of her before she causes us serious trouble. But that's not the point now."

"And what is the vulking point, if I may ask?"

Tarrant's mien darkened. "As usual, you're a veritable pain in the neck, Reverend Vryce. You'd better remember that I don't make a habit of explaining myself. But considering that you very likely won't stop pestering me until you will have found out what you want to know, I presume I can just as well satisfy your curiosity now. Be warned, though. You might not like what you're going to hear."

"I'm all ears."

"That goes without saying." Silver eyes glittered in the torchlight, coolly appraising him for what felt like a small eternity, and Damien barely managed to keep himself from fidgeting under their relentless scrutiny. "In the end, the girl is but a small nuisance. The catalyst but by no means the real cause for my... misgivings," the Hunter continued haltingly as if searching for the right words. "As a matter of fact, _you_ are the the thorn in my flesh. As much as I wish otherwise, it's beyond question that you've become uncomfortably skilled at manipulating me into doing things which run contrary to my true nature. Like sparing the real children, something I wouldn't have agreed on a mere year ago. Letting somebody posing a potential threat to me live isn't my usual style, as you very well know."

Damien blinked. "So that's what's bothering you?" he blurted out, his face the very picture of disbelief. "That you listened to me, failed to leave utter destruction in your wake for a change? You've got to be kidding!"

"Hardly. As matters stand, I'm not in a joking mood."

 _You don't say so_! the warrior knight thought with no small amount of sarcasm, but knew better than to fan the flames of Tarrant's foul temper. At least for now. "I still don't understand why you're so mad about it," he said instead, keeping his voice deliberately calm. "You did me a favour. So what? I don't deem it likely that those kids will ever cross our paths again. It's all water under the bridge now."

"But your 'favour' could cost me everything. Have you conveniently forgotten that my compact doesn't allow for showing mercy? Among other things, by the way. The Unnamed has been waiting for a mistake of mine for a very long time now. For obvious reasons, I'm not in the least inclined to play into his hands. But as I've already pointed out, you are the real problem, Vryce. It's a mystery to me why I keep jeopardizing my life, or what counts for 'life' in my state, so that you can indulge in your foolish human sentiments. It doesn't make any sense."

Damien couldn't help it. Against his better wisdom, his tongue just ran away with him. "Must be my winning personality then," he grinned broadly. "Seems I'm a real charmer."

The Hunter's withering glower could have frozen a hot spring in midsummer. "Remind me to add cussing, rudeness and a deplorable tendency to neglect one's appearance to my list of positive character traits if we ever have a moment of peace and quiet," he snapped irritably. " In case you've nothing more productive to contribute to our discussion, you'd better keep your mouth shut."

 _The gentleman protests too much_ , Vryce thought, but dismissed the notion as utterly absurd. Surely Tarrant found him anything but charming. After all, the adept had been bitching about everything from his intelligence to his taste of clothes for months on end now, leaving no doubt that he would gladly say 'good riddance' as soon as their mission was accomplished. And even more important, he had married and sired three children in his early mortal days, implicating a heterosexual orientation. In his own wicked way, he was still a connoisseur in terms of women, and that he had somehow developed a crush on a man all of a sudden stretched the limits of credibility a bit too much for the warrior knight's liking.

But be that as it may, there was no mistaking that something was quite out of order. Throughout their madcap adventures, the Hunter had worn his callousness like an armour supposed to shield him from the world of the living, but now the protective barrier had cracked. No less proud than old Earth's legendary fallen archangel Lucifer himself, he still struggled for keeping up the ever so calm, detached façade, but for one knowing him well enough, his agitation was all too evident in the tense set of his shoulders and the way a muscle in his right cheek was twitching ever so slightly. Damien could sense his resentment, his pent-up anger on a visceral level, but what struck him above everything else were the almost palpable waves of honest confusion radiating from him.

Then it suddenly dawned on him. Holed up in his Forest stronghold, with nobody to keep him company save the creep Amoril and a few servants who had likewise given up their birthright, Tarrant had lost any connection whatsoever to a healthy emotional life. 'Tainted' by his mortal companion's humanity, something long buried must have resurfaced from the bottomless abysses of his soul, unaccustomed feelings he couldn't sort out anymore due to the lack of sufficient practice. For a scholar devoted to the pursuit of knowledge, the experience was certainly rather frustrating, and the adept had proved on more than one occasion that his frustration tolerance wasn't very high, to put it mildly. All things considered, it wasn't surprising that he was teetering precariously on the brink of lashing out at the man responsible for his psychological distress.

Feeling a strange kind of pity for a creature so corrupted, so steeped in evil that even the most basic interpersonal interactions were as alien to him as the icy depths of space their forefathers had braved on their way to their new home, the warrior knight decided that it was about time for a nudge in the right direction. "Listen, Gerald," he said gently, "the answer to your problem might be very easy. We're dependent on each other. Maybe you just relented because you didn't want to alienate a valuable ally, but it's possible that we became a bit more than mere comrades over the last months, as unlikely as it may seem. Humans make friends, and your soul is still human, after all. As for me, my attitude towards you has changed a lot. I still abhor your feeding habits, but I've come to quite appreciate the rest of you. Sometimes, at any rate."

The Neocount snorted haughtily. "Kindly spare me your imbecile insinuations, Vryce. My essence is demonic. I can't be anybody's friend. If you fancy a good cuddle, you have to look elsewhere."

"Oh, for crying out loud, don't give me that lone wolf shit again! I'm sick and tired of hearing it. Deny it all the way you want to, but I haven't failed to notice that you've been going deliberately easy on me concerning your food intake lately. And while we're at it, it wasn't I who brought up the 'cuddling' stuff. A strange slip of the tongue, if you ask me."

Gerald's eyes widened incredulously, darted back and forth between his vis-à-vis' hazel ones and the calloused fingers which had somehow found their way on his shoulder, and his jaw literally dropped an inch, something Damien would have found outright comical under different circumstances. But he was quickly brought back to sombre reality when the muscles under his hand went completely rigid and a look of pure, unadulterated horror passed over the adept's angelic features.

Registering his reaction, Vryce tensed up and grasped the hilt of his sword, getting ready for battling whatever threat that might have sneaked up on them under the cover of darkness, but neither faeborn demon nor human enemy emerged from the deep shadows under the trees. However, the night had become eerily quiet. Too quiet. No insects chittered, no nocturnal animals scuttled through the undergrowth, and even the mournful moaning of the wind that had accompanied them all day had died down to a breathless silence all at once. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

Before he could make sense of the situation, Tarrant glided toward him in a soft rustle of silk, deliberately invading his personal space. At the sight of the ungodly red glow lighting up in what had been human eyes a few seconds ago Damien very nearly forgot how to breathe. "Gerald, what the heck...?" he choked out between gritted teeth, but a pale index finger to his lips silenced him.

"Although I still need to run a last test in order to verify my theory, I think it's safe to assume that it isn't friendship we're talking about," the Hunter whispered, his delicate nostrils flaring as if testing the air for a scent of his prey. "What a pity that you won't remember any of the experimental arrangement tomorrow."

Sensing the danger, Vryce attempted to draw his sword and to hell with the consequences, but it was to no avail. Try as he might, he couldn't move a limb, couldn't even protest when the adept tangled his digits in his hair and yanked him closer without further ado. It hurt, but suddenly, drowning in those unearthly pools of fire and ice that seemed to bore into his very soul, he didn't give a damn anymore. The torch slipped from his limp hand and fell onto the ground, utterly forgotten. Then Tarrant bowed his head with a wicked smile, and darkness swallowed him whole.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When the priest woke up, the sun had already risen high in the sky. Jenseny was still asleep a mere arm's length away, barely visible in her cocoon of blankets, but Hesseth poked her head into the tent as if on cue, a steaming mug in her hand. "Are you awake at last? I was starting to get worried about you," she said.

"I'm fine. A bit dazed maybe, but nothing that a few sips of tee can't cure." Vryce reached for the cup, but froze in mid-motion. "That's weird. I remember that I followed Gerald into the forest, but as for the rest, my mind's completely blank. I don't even know how I got back to our camp."

The khrast looked definitely ill at ease. "You were gone for a long time last night. I was just about waking the little one and coming after you when he returned, carrying you in his arms with no more effort than it would have taken him to handle the girl. You were unconscious, pale as a ghost, and I accused him of taking too much of your blood, promised that I would sharpen my claws on him if you didn't recover. He denied feeding on you, insisted that you had collapsed from exhaustion, but I think that's only one side of the story. Tucking you in, he was looking much too smug for my peace of mind."

"Tucking me... please tell me that this is your idea of a funny good morning joke!"

"I wish it were so. But he put you to bed and kept hovering over you until the sky began to brighten in the east. Only then he left to seek shelter, but not before threatening to unleash hell on us if we dared to disturb you except in case of imminent danger. From the sound of it, it wasn't meant to be one of your human metaphors." The rakh-woman shot him a quizzical glance. "And you really have no idea what could have happened between the two of you?"

Scratching his itching stubble, Damien racked his brains, but it was hopeless. Each and every time he was trying to get past whatever was blocking his memories, he encountered a barrier no less impenetrable than Tarrant's magnificent Shielding he had foundered on in the dae in Briand what felt like an eternity ago. "No, I haven't," he replied at long last, still non the wiser for all his musing. "The last thing I remember is stumbling upon the vulking bastard in a clearing not very far from here. It seems that we had an argument, that he harped on about me being a thorn in his side, but from then on, I'm utterly... Hesseth, what's wrong?"

Amber eyes were fixed on a spot at the curve of his neck, a strange expression in their fathomless depths. "You'd better see for yourself, Damien," the khrast said very quietly. "As I'm not of your kind, I'd rather not give my opinion on the matter. And now I have to look after our breakfast, or we will be forced to content ourselves with grass and twigs."

With that, she hurried out of the tent as if the Unnamed or whatever deity her people feared most were after her, leaving behind a somewhat puzzled Damien Kilcannon Vryce. Muttering a vicious curse directed at women in general and this one in particular under his breath, he rummaged through his pack until he found what he had been looking for: a small shaving mirror he had bought in Faraday shortly before boarding the Golden Glory. Just as he had suspected, he looked like crap. Dark shadows circled his eyes like bruises and his skin had an unhealthy pallor beneath his tan, but what really gave him some food for thought was a discolouration on the left side of his neck that hadn't been there before.

Alarmed, Damien squinted his eyes and turned the mirror until it caught a ray of sunlight falling through the entrance. On closer examination, the object in question wasn't a bite mark as he had halfway expected given Tarrant's unholy cravings. The tiny blood vessels just beneath the skin seemed to have ruptured, but there were no puncture wounds, nothing whatsoever which indicated that the adept had quenched his thirst for blood on him. Thinking of it, the reddish patch rather resembled something his body hadn't sported since the hormone-addled days of his youth. Damn!

The warrior knight swallowed convulsively. Announcing that he was suffering from amnesia, he had spoken nothing but the truth. At least in some respects. He really had no idea what had hit him, whether the adept had attacked him or there was an altogether different reason for his breakdown. But as worrisome as his blackout was, it wasn't in the least as terrifying as the peculiar chimaeras his subconscious had harassed him with when being out cold. In the dream he had taken care not to brief Hesseth on, icy but so very soft lips had met his own and a no less chill tongue had plundered his mouth until a wave of arousal unlike anything he had ever experienced before had left him weak with desire. His trembling fingers had strayed toward his crotch and untied the laces of his pants seemingly on their own account, baring his erection to the Hunter's hungry midnight gaze. "Pleasure yourself for me, Vryce," a silken voice had purred into his ear, and he had obeyed to the deafening power behind the ever so quiet words like a puppet, had stroked his stiff flesh faster and faster until his legs had given way and he had moaned and jerked in the throes of passion right at Tarrant's feet.

But if it had been just a wet dream, spawned by the sexual tension he hadn't been able to vent for quite a while now, and he prayed to God that it had been nothing more substantial, how the hell had he gotten the thrice damned... thing on his neck? Of course it was possible that there was a rather harmless explanation for it, that he had bruised himself when hitting the ground or the earth fae had had a hand in it, reacting to his cerebral activity and thus bringing his imaginations to life for him, in a manner of speaking. But somehow he doubted it, doubted it very much.

 _Oh for God's sake, Vryce, just call a spade a spade_ , Damien chastised himself. _The 'thing' is a vulking hickey, and it wasn't the tooth fairy who caused it. For whatever reason, the son of a bitch had a good time watching you getting off and tinkered around with your mind afterwards in order to cover up his infamous actions. A 'collapse from exhaustion', my ass! Bad luck for him that he fell prey to his own vanity and arrogance. If he hadn't indulged in marking you as his own, you might have never figured out the truth._

Something flared up inside him that wasn't quite revulsion, an emotion utterly at odds with the surge of rage baring his teeth and clenching his hands into white-knuckled fists, but he pushed it down with all his might and main. How could Gerald dare to treat him like this? Admittedly, the man hadn't left him to his own devices where he had fallen but had cared enough to carry him back to their camp, had even watched over him until the rising sun had forced him to take shelter, but this unique act of considerateness didn't negate one bit of his abysmal transgression.

The priest drew a calming breath. All had not been said and done about the matter, that was as sure as day followed night. He'd be damned if he let Tarrant get away with it, but it wouldn't do to run amok now. Dealing with the Hunter, it was always advisable to keep one's wits about one. Thank goodness, his nemesis wouldn't be back until after nightfall for obvious reasons, anyway, granting him valuable time to cool down and create a plan of action. _And then may God have mercy upon you, Merentha_ , Damien thought grimly.

"Breakfast's ready!" Hesseth shouted at the very next moment, and he let his anger and wounded pride sink into the deeper levels of his consciousness and set about waking up the sleeping girl.


End file.
